


Turning Pages

by collectiveobsession



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Canon, Canon Compliant, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Mutual Pining, One-Shot Collection, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-01-09 04:38:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12269049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/collectiveobsession/pseuds/collectiveobsession
Summary: A collection of ficlets and one-shots featuring Alistair and Lyna Mahariel. Includes canon-complaint and AU stories.





	1. Sweetest Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair reveals his feelings to Lyna in a rather unromantic way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First DA fanfiction! Please review and leave kudos!

Alistair could not place the moment he fell in love with Lyna. He’d noticed something, a burning jolt in his stomach when he looked at her, becoming a more frequent feeling as the time wore on.

He felt this when he watched her brush her hair by the in the evening, fingers catching on mats that had collected throughout the day in the twin buns. The outline of her slim body against the dancing flames, firelight gleaming in her honey-colored tresses as practiced hands combed through the waves left his face hot and hands itching to help.

He felt this as the deafening quiet fell over an ending battle and his eyes found her, bloodied, but alive. Alistair’s eyes _always_ found her, frantic to confirm that she was still alive. He watched her chest heave, gasping for breath after cheating death again, and she shoved her twin daggers back into their hilts. Her eyes met his, the most breath-taking shade of turquoise, and a private smile tugged her lips. Was she as relieved to see him alive as he was her?

Alistair even felt this when he all but dragged her away from Goldanna, the elf Warden still berating his long-lost sister in the streets of Denerim until she slammed the door shut. Lyna paced the marketplace, fuming after the encounter, so indignant that _how dare she treat you like that!_ He was forever amused at how such a small person could hold such a temper. Alistair couldn’t ignore the swell of affection that she was so riled up for him, so enraged that anyone could have treated him as such.

He especially knew it when he kissed her that first time. Lyna had held his gaze, eyes searching him, and he saw the most imperceptible nod of her head before he leaned down. The words rang in his head as his lips moved against hers and Alistair swore that there would never be anything else that felt this good. Her mouth was so soft, so warm, so confident as she kissed him. For a moment, everything went silent and nothing else existed except Lyna, her mouth, and his hands on her lips.

Alistair knew it then, but kept silent.

His mouth put a name to this feeling before his brain could comprehend it, and it all came spilling out one day at camp. Alistair knelt beside a small stream, scrubbing a tunic against a rock as he struggled to get the dark stains of blood out of it. He heard Lyna’s approach behind him and smiled at the thoughtfulness on her part; as an elf, her approaches were nearly silent, and after scaring him to death a handful of times, she’d learned to rustle leaves, cough, or step on sticks so that he could hear her.

“Any luck?” She asked, arms clasped behind her back as she surveyed his work. He grimaced and sat back on his haunches, wiping the sweat from his brow with a dry forearm.

“Not sure it can be salvaged.” He lamented, gesturing to the massive spot that covered the majority of the front of the tunic. She clucked her tongue and shook her head, a smile tugging at the edges of her mouth. He could do nothing but grin in return, her smiles absolutely infectious.

“Well, I have a surprise that might make you feel better.” Lyna proclaimed and he raised a brow in question.

“Ta-da!” She announced, revealing what had been hidden behind her back: his favorite pair of trousers. Alistair’s mouth hung open in shock, eyes searching the fabric as soon as she handed them over. He had torn a massive hole in these trousers the previous week and lamented leaving them behind in their last camp. Wynne had deemed them irreparable and that they would take up too much space in his pack. Alistair hadn’t known that Lyna had kept them and patched the hole.

He looked up at her grinning face, good-as-new trousers in hand, and said without thinking,

“I love you.”

Her eyes widen and he felt a searing heat flush his face. How could he have let that slip? They hadn’t been involved that long…it was too soon…she was going to run for sure…

“I’m sorry – I didn’t mean…Maker, I’m a fool-” He stuttered an apology, trying to grasp at any way to remedy the situation. Lyna just shook her head, a shy smile and faint blush painting her freckled cheeks.

“I love you, too, Alistair.” She said it so quietly, he almost didn’t hear it, couldn’t believe that she could possibly feel the same. He gaped at her like a fish out of water, unable to form words to her declaration.

“Plus,” She said, taking another step towards him. He was still on his knees on the river bank, clutching the trousers, and at this height his gaze was directly level with her chest. His face felt redder still as she closed in on him, “I don’t think you’ll scare any darkspawn running around in your smallclothes.”

She ducked down and placed a soft but too-quick kiss on his lips before strolling away, her bright laughter following her back to camp.

He remained crouched by the river, trousers in hand, and a massive grin on his face as he watched her go. Maker, did he love that woman.


	2. Squirrel Vanquisher

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Modern AU: Married couple Alistair and Lyna buy their first house with some unusual neighbors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This actually happened to my husband and I shortly after buying our first house. Could not make this up if I tried.

“‘Buy a house’, they said,” He mumbled under his breath, staring down his target, “‘It’ll be fun’, they said.”

Alistair had not ever in his life planned on adding Squirrel Vanquisher to his resume, but as he held gazes with a pair of beady black eyes, he realized his life had taken a _very_ unexpected turn.

Well, he’d be Squirrel Vanquisher once he got rid of the wily little rodents.

He and Lyna had closed on the house three weeks ago and he was cursing every fiber of his being for not making the sellers exterminate them before settling. To be honest, he hadn’t really noticed the vermin hiding out in the old air conditioning unit when doing the initial tour of the house and following walkthroughs. They’d been so excited about every other aspect of the house, first and foremost that it was going to be _theirs_ , that they’d overlooked their furry neighbors.

The unit was installed in the brick wall of the house, existing both inside and outside of the home simultaneously. The previous owners had gotten a new outdoor unit some twenty-odd years ago, but left the wall unit, presumably because of the hassle it would be to brick it up. Since then, holes had rusted out of the outdoor sides, allowing small animals to crawl inside. It was an eyesore at best and a too-close squirrel loft at worst. They could hear the squirrels scampering around in there every time they spent more than five minutes in the living room. The noise had initially scared Lyna so bad, she’d run from the house, terrified that they were sneaking their way into the living room. Alistair’s reassurances that the mechanics of the unit couldn’t allow for the squirrels to just climb into their house did not to quell her fears. Which is exactly why he was outside, staring down the bastards with a hose and spray bottle of squirrel repellent in hand.

He took a deep breath, reminding himself that he was a man and that these were small rodents, what reason did he have to be afraid? Alistair saw the blinds rise in one of the living room windows and the anxious face of his wife appeared on the other side of the glass. He laughed at her fear, finding the idea that Lyna was afraid of squirrels extremely comical. In all the years they’d known each other, he’d never seen her nervous over something so trivial. They were just squirrels, for Maker’s sake…

She scowled at him from the window, hearing his laughter. Lyna banged on the glass and shouted something at him that he could hardly catch, but he was sure he heard the word “rabies”. He rolled his eyes, shaking his head at the woman. Rabies? _Honestly_.

He inhaled deeply again, hearing the agitated chattering of the air conditioner’s inhabitants. They were harmless, right? I mean, they could bite, but it couldn’t be that bad, right? They were furry little rats, really.

Alistair grit his teeth and chose the jet stream on the hose nozzle. Making sure that he was a reasonable distance away (twelve feet was enough, right?) that didn’t make it look like he was frightened; he aimed the hose and sprayed.

And then several things happened at once.

Two smaller squirrels darted out of the unit so quickly, he would have missed it had he blinked. He heard Lyna scream a curse, muffled behind the window glass.

But neither of these events was nearly as important as the mother squirrel _launching out directly at him_.

She hit him in the chest with a force shockingly powerful for a small creature and he yelped at a pitch entirely too high for any self-respecting man to make. Alistair dropped the still-spraying hose and ran from the scene. The squirrel dashed away, angrily chattering at him as she followed the rest of her family.

Alistair patted his hands all over his body, panicking that maybe she was still on him and checking for bites. He found neither bite nor squirrel, and leaned over, hands on his knees as he fought to catch his breath. An odd muffled sound caught his attention and he jolted for a second, worried that the squirrel had returned. He looked in the direction of the sound and saw Lyna still watching in the window, laughing hysterically at the whole scene with her cellphone in hand.

She was wiping tears away and dissolved into a fresh wave of laughter upon meeting his gaze. His face burned red and he nervously ran a hand through his hair. _Of course_ she had seen the whole thing.

Alistair could still hear her giggling as he walked away from the scene, wondering how he was ever going to live that one down.

_Please, Andraste_ , he prayed silently, _please don’t let her have gotten that on video_.


	3. Safe Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair and Lyna go to Denerim for the first time. Lyna does not react well to the city.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Panic attacks, anxiety

Their first time in Denerim, Lyna has a panic attack.

The moment they step foot into the city and the massive wooden gates close behind them, he sees a very sudden terror overtake her body. It starts in her shoulders, which stiffen immediately as the lock slides into place, and then the rest of her body freezes, too. The color drains from her face, making the freckles dotting the expanse of her cheeks appear gray in contrast to her ashen visage. Her vallaslin, though beautiful in its intricate designs swirling across her forehead, stands out too darkly against the pallor, resembling a brand rather than a sacred tattoo.

For whatever reason, it isn’t until Lyna begins to tremble that Alistair finally grasps what is happening to her. Her breathing starts coming in harsh gasps and her blue eyes are frantically darting about the city.

The streets of Denerim are uncomfortably crowded; it is midday and merchants are hocking their wares in the marketplace while the Chantry sisters sing the Chant of Light at a grating volume. Children are laughing and running around as their mothers hang laundry on the lines crisscrossing above the streets. Somewhere in the background is the familiar clang of metal in an open blacksmith’s shop. Above that is a guard reprimanding a city-dweller.

It is all almost too much for him, too. After so long traveling on the road, the bustling city is unfamiliar and too loud. They had been in smaller villages: Redcliffe, South Reach, Lothering…but none quite compared to the intensity of Denerim.

A moment after he has realized that his Warden companion is nearing hyperventilation, he stands in front in her, face to face, blocking out the extra activity of the city. He looks down at her, shielding her from the sun. He is loath to touch her in this state as he recognizes her fear is like that of a hunted animal. She is deciding on fight or flight and he doesn’t have long before Lyna chooses. Alistair maintains eye contact with her and slowly reaches a hand to her shoulder, praying she doesn’t bolt like a frightened halla.

She accepts the contact, or rather doesn’t shove his hand off or stab him, and he can feel the rapid rise and fall of her shoulders with her quickened breath. He leans down towards her, slowly again, worrying he may still push her too far, and says quietly, though enough for her to hear through the din,

“Come with me?”

Lyna searches his eyes a moment and then swallows and nods. Alistair hopes that at this point in their journey she trusts him enough to follow blindly. He’d explain their destination, but the building anxiety in her eyes tells him that this panic will not dissipate easily or any time soon. He nods, too, rests a hand on her shoulder and quickly leads her through the chaos of Denerim.

He takes her to the only truly quiet place he knows in the city, and that’s the old bookshop that the (equally old) Tranquil merchant owns down a side street. _Wonders of Thedas_ is, expectedly, empty and the minute the door closes, he waves off the owner and takes her upstairs to sit at the enormous study table. The upper level of the shop is just as empty as the top and he silently wills the proprietor not to follow them up and try to help them with anything.

Lyna sits down heavily on the worn bench, leather armor creaking as her body nearly collapses. She leans her elbows on the table and cradles her forehead in her hands; Alistair notices that her arms are still shaking. He takes a seat beside her, close but not too close and waits for her to speak first. The only noise in the shop is the crackling of the fireplace across the room from them and the faint sounds of the street outside.

Alistair is not sure how long they sit in silence before Lyna finally speaks,

“Thank you,” She says. Her voice is barely above a whisper, yet it holds all of the exhaustion she must have been bottling up since Ostagar, and maybe even before that. She has been unswervingly strong through everything so far and he finds that he isn’t surprised that she has finally cracked, if only a little bit. Lyna is still a bastion of fortitude: it would take much more to really break her, but the stress of the quest had to catch up eventually.

“I’ve never been to a city,” She confesses, head still resting in her hands as she addresses the table rather than face him. Alistair finds it odd to see her unwilling to make eye contact and he thinks maybe she is embarrassed by her reaction, “The activity is….unfamiliar.”

He sees nothing wrong with this. She was Dalish and grew up in a small, roving clan…of course she’d be unaccustomed to busy cities. He tells her so and she scoffs.

“It’s not an excuse for having a meltdown.” Lyna snaps, finally turning to face him. He is thrown off by the sudden mood change, but is well-acquainted with her temper. Alistair is rarely the reason for her ire, but has seen it often enough to grasp that she could be a bit tempestuous. It is easy to recognize that it is easier for her to be angry than it is for her to be vulnerable.

“Lyna,” He says gently, challenging her flashing eyes as he rests a hand on her forearm, “It’s all right.”

She stares him down for a moment, or maybe an hour, before she finally closes her eyes and nods. Her spark of anger subsides like a summer storm and he is left with a weary elf.

“I thought I was going to run,” She confesses in a soft, slow murmur, “Or vomit. Or die. This place…it is all too much, too different from home.

“I’m not usually afraid of things, but _this city_ …it’s just unlike anything I’ve ever dealt with.” She is frustrated, but still open. Her brows furrow and he notices that the color has returned to her face.

“And you’ve been dealing with a lot recently.” He supplies, acutely aware that his hand is still on her arm. The rose from Lothering burns a hole in his armor, but now is not the time.

Lyna nods, giving him a weak half-smile.

“So have you.” He shrugs at this, his other hand coming up the rub the back of his neck nervously.

“Well, yeah, but…humor is a good coping mechanism, so I’m all right for now,” He stumbles over the joke and she breathes out an uneven chuckle, “I call dibs on the next meltdown. It’s my turn.”

Her weak smile fades and his heart plummets, worried he’s offended her.

“Alistair,” She starts and turns to face him fully. He doesn’t know where she is going with this, but he can feel his palm start to sweat and he removes his hand from her arm as though burned. She doesn’t comment on his quick movement, but continues, “I don’t want you to think that I can’t do this, just because I lost it a little bit there. I’m fine and I won’t slip up again. You can trust me.”

He isn’t sure where he thought she was going, but it certainly wasn’t there. She was worried he didn’t trust her to have his back, to be his Warden partner? Just because of a small panic attack? His brows crease as he tries to grasp this line of thinking and she mistakes his silence for skepticism. Her blue eyes become a bit frantic and now it is her turn to rest a hand on his arm.

“Alistair, I’m sorry,” She apologize, “It was a moment of weakness, and I will be stronger going forward. I-”

“Lyna,” Alistair cuts her off, finally comprehending where her reasoning has gone, “I trust you. What just happened…it happens. There is nothing wrong with you and I don’t think you’re weak.

“I know you are strong and I trust you,” He places a hand over the one she has on his arm and holds her gaze with as much intensity as he can muster, “We protect each other.”

“Like you did today?” She says finally and he smiles.

“Yes, like I did today. And like you’ll do tomorrow. And like every other day until this Blight is over.”

Alistair isn’t sure what possesses him to do so, but he scoots closer to Lyna and wraps his arms around her shoulders in a tight embrace. He’s never hugged her before and he can’t ignore the sense of rightness that comes with having her in his arms. Her arms snake around his waist and her chin rests on his shoulder with a sigh. She feels more relaxed than she has since stepping into the city and he silently prays that that’s his doing.

He doesn’t know what an appropriate length for this hug is, but he finds he doesn’t care as she makes no move to end it. His hand comes up to cup the back of her head and he closes his eyes to savor the embrace. This, he will remember.

Alistair turns his head to the side, lips almost touching the shell of her pointed ear, and whispers,

“I will always protect you.”


	4. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-Awakening: Alistair reunites with Lyna at Vigil's Keep after ten months of traveling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Smut ahead. NSFW.

Ten months was entirely too long a time for her to be separated from Alistair. However, there were some times when Lyna didn’t notice the passage of time, to be honest. Fighting more Darkspawn, attempting to regenerate the Fereldan Order of Grey Wardens, and tracking the origin of talking Darkspawn kept her busy for much of the time, along with a lengthy laundry list of other duties. It was long days and short nights, barely getting enough rest to get up and push forward.

But she had done this for a year already, with even longer days and even shorter nights. The Blight was not kind and the quest had been a whirlwind; it hadn’t felt like a year, but she’d felt like she’d aged ten afterwards. There was a short time of rest for her and Alistair following the final fight in Denerim, but it was off again into the fray and learning what it really meant to be Warden-Commander.

Lyna was convinced it wouldn’t be this bad if Alistair had just stayed with her. But like the dedicated Warden he is, he’d gone on the Thaw Hunt to chase the already receding Darkspawn back into their hideouts in the Deep Roads. She was busy, but in the rare moments she had to herself, she found herself aching from his absence. How she allowed herself to fall so deeply in love with him ( _a shemlen!_ ) during a Blight was still a mystery. But every time she recalled his roguish smile and gentle hands, she found it impossible not to fall for him. 

Ten months since they’d parted ways in Denerim and Lyna finally got word that he was returning.

_Finally_.

She stood beside Nathaniel Howe in the throne room of Vigil’s Keep, awaiting the return of Warden Alistair and the Recruits he had collected along the way. Lyna could hardly mask her anxiety, unable to stand still, constantly fidgeting, worrying at the amulet around her neck. Nate threw her several sideways glances, narrowing his eyes at her activity, though the corners of his mouth lifted in a smirk.

“Nervous, Commander?” He asked, an innocent enough inquiry. She huffed and crossed her arms, trying uphold her dignity as leader, but really willing her hands to still.

“Of course not.” She replied staunchly.

She did not speak of her relationship with Alistair to the other Wardens. It was unprofessional and she had a reputation to maintain. Besides, Oghren had already taken it upon himself to tell lewd stories of her and Alistair’s time together during the Blight. She’d once walked into the dining hall and heard one of his rousing accounts of her romantic life with her fellow Warden. Lyna wasn’t sure who was redder: her from rage, the other Wardens from the embarrassment of being caught by their superior, or Oghren from the ale. In the end, she had dragged a cursing Oghren out of the hall by his beard and berated him loudly enough that the other Wardens never mentioned it again. It took a few weeks for her to make eye contact with any of them and she feared that might have made her look weak if the Wardens had not also been avoiding her gaze. She never mentioned Alistair in anything but a platonic way and the Wardens never asked.

Nathaniel knew, of course (well, they _all_ did). He never said anything while others were around, but he enjoyed a teasing remark ever since word had come of Alistair’s homecoming. He’d helped organize the feast for the returning Warden and Recruits and understood without Lyna having to say how important it truly was.

Ten months and she was finally going to see him again.

She could not fathom why she was so nervous. This was _Alistair_ , for Creator’s sake. The same man she’d traipsed across Ferelden with to defeat an impossible evil with a prayer and a mabari (and maybe a few others). But at the same time this was _Alistair_. This was a man she had not seen for nearly a year whom she feared may have forgotten her. Her stomach churned and she could barely stand the smell of the feast wafting from the dining hall.

“Just sit down and settle.” Nathaniel chided like a mother hen, nodding at the empty throne behind her. Never mind that she hated the thing, standing alone was not enough movement for her at this moment. Lyna couldn’t bear to sit even if he chained her to the damned thing. And Nate looked very close to doing so at this point. He gave her a withering glare so reminiscent of the Keeper that she promptly clicked her jaw shut and fell heavily into the wooden throne.

Not a second after she sat down, the heavy oaken doors leading to the front courtyard opened and a guard from the front gate rushed in. She sprang up immediately and the vast hall filled with her Wardens and people of Vigil’s Keep silenced.

“Warden-Commander Mahariel,” The guard announced, breath coming in gasps as though he had sprinted from the gates. She heard a commotion behind him through the crack in the door and ignored the leap of her heart as she thought she recognized a voice…

“May I present-”

“Enough with the pageantry, my good man, I’m quite capable of announcing myself.”

Lyna had never considered herself a romantic, but as soon as he walked into the hall, it took every fiber of her self-restraint not to launch herself at Alistair. She met his eyes instantly, hungrily, and knew that he was feeling the same way. The twitch of her hands was the only indication of her longing and Nathaniel grinned beside her.

Alistair marched across the hall in long strides, his eyes only focused on her with the most magnificent smile on his face. She scarcely registered the knowing smirks of the Wardens surrounding them and the Recruits filing in behind him.

By the time he reached her, Lyna gave up trying to hide her grin. Alistair stopped, too far from her and dropped to a knee in his bow to his superior.

“Arlessa of Amaranthine,” He started, and she heard the laughter in his words at the title. Then he added, more adoringly, “I am again at your service, My Commander.”

“You’ve been gone too long, Warden.” She replied, eyes glittering with poorly concealed flirtation.

“That I have, my lady…that I have.”

~*~*~*~

Lyna remembered nothing of the feast. She did not remember the speech that she gave, praising the Wardens for their hard work, welcoming the Recruits into the fold, and introducing Alistair to Vigil’s Keep. She couldn’t recall the food at all, convinced that she was unable to eat with Alistair sitting so close beside her. She didn’t even remember what number cask Oghren had opened by the time she deemed it appropriate to leave. Lyna could feel a few eyes on her and Alistair as they both feigned exhaustion and she led him out under the pretense of showing him his quarters. Most of the Wardens and Recruits were far enough into their cups that they hopefully wouldn’t remember the two leaving together.

Even though the feast existed only as a blur in her memory, Lyna was acutely aware of everything once they got to her room. The door lock was thunderous as it slid into place, yet everything else was quiet as they stared at each other. Her breathing sounded too loud to her ears, but the silence of the room was deafening. The uncertainty coiled in Lyna’s stomach once again as they stood in silence. Should she move? Will he move?

Her eyes darted wildly across his face, bathed in the soft glow of the fire crackling in the hearth. What she truly wished to do now was just to _touch_ him, to know that he was real and that she was not dreaming. His face split into another glorious smile and she felt the breath rush out of her in a sudden _whoosh_.

“Hi,” He said, and she heard the relief in his voice, knowing that he was feeling the same sense of disbelief. She smiled back and let out what might have been a laugh if it hadn’t sounded so strangled and watery.

“Hi.”

And then his mouth was on hers and everything disappeared. The silence of the room, the warmth of the fire, even her own anxiety over his return, it was all suddenly gone and the only thing she knew was Alistair. He surrounded her entirely, his body, his scent, everything. She felt her back against the door and one of his hands came up to cradle the back of her head while the other tightened around her waist, lifting her to the tips of her toes to reach. Her own hands found his tunic, then his jaw, and his hair…she couldn’t possibly touch him _enough_.

Alistair parted from her, heavy breaths fanning her face and she closed her eyes for only a moment to savor it. He rested his forehead against hers and sighed in contentment.

“I missed you.”  Were the only words he breathed to her, lips tenderly marking every part of her face: nose, cheeks, vallaslin. He ducked his head into the crook of her neck, pecking kisses and nipping at the soft curve of her shoulder. A soft groan escaped her at the sensation and she felt his resolve strengthen and his mouth became more insistent, decisive. This was real. _She_ was real.

Lyna felt his fingers caressing her hip bones, tracing the slope from the bone towards her stomach. She knew an instant before it happened that he intended to lift her. With her legs tightly wrapped around his hips, she was freed up to kiss him more urgently at the closer proximity.

Kissing wasn’t enough. She could do this for hours, but was quickly becoming consumed by unbridled _need_. She was burning, that she was sure of. Burning to touch every inch of his skin, to reclaim it as her own, to be _his_. She wanted to crawl inside of his skin and never leave his warmth and safety.

Her hands began to search for the hem of his tunic, yanking hastily but gaining no results. She felt the puff of his breath as he chuckled against her neck.

“Insistent, are we?” Alistair murmured, continuing his relaxed pace as he nipped her jaw. Lyna’s sigh of frustration cut off as she sharply inhaled at the feel of his teeth tugging her earlobe. Her blood was on fire now. Her breath became heavy as his tongue dragged upward and he nibbled at the pointed tip. Her hips bucked against him the harder he bit down. With a shaky laugh he came back down to the lobe and sucked the tender flesh. Her hands clamped down on his shoulders as she fought to find friction for the building heat between her legs.

Alistair’s grip on her hips tightened as he fought to keep the slow pace. She knew she was wearing him down by the unconscious thrust of his own hips against hers. Lyna continued on his tunic and it finally gave way at her persistence. Soon it was forgotten on the floor and her hands were everywhere on his chest.

Alistair was different, somehow. In the last ten months, he’d become leaner, more heavily muscled as he kept up the demanding Warden lifestyle. Lyna mourned the loss of his certain soft boyishness, scraping her fingernails across the hard muscle, wishing she hadn’t lost so much time with him. However, she couldn’t deny how much more _masculine_ he was now and she felt her breath quicken even more at the sight. He cut a beautiful sculpture, tanned skin stretched over taut muscles that flexed at her touch. His form tapered at the waist, twin valleys at his hip bones extending downward beneath his breeches. Lyna couldn’t get enough of tracing the line of dark gold hair from his navel to his waistband.

His hands were on her own shirt now, pulling at it with the same urgency she did his own. Eventually it found its place on the floor with his tunic, and her breastband was not far behind. He leaned back from her for a moment, hands gripping her rear and breathed a quiet _wow_ as he surveyed her naked chest.

“Nothing you haven’t seen before.” She quipped, trying to ignore the blush creeping up from her neck into her cheeks.

“It’s been too long,” He explained, awed devotion in his tone as a hand came up to caress her jaw and then slide downward towards her newly exposed skin, “Maker, you are… _glorious_.”

Her heart clenched at his words. She never got used to his praise; his reverence still surprised her, like he really thought he didn’t deserve her. More than a year ago, she promised herself she’d do everything to make him believe that he was worth it, and she intended to make good on that promise.

One of his hands cupped a breast and her eyes closed at the warmth of his calloused fingers against her sensitive skin. His thumb brushed over her nipple and a bolt of electricity shot through her. Alistair hiked her up just a bit higher, her legs tightening around his waist as he ducked his head to press a kiss to her other breast. A choked gasp left her as his teeth bit down gently on the flesh and her hands flew to his hands. She wasn’t sure if she was pushing him for more or pulling from the barrage of sensation. Either way, he pulled back and smirked up at her, teasingly circling one nipple with his thumb.

“Yes?” He asked, mischief sparkling with the lust in his darkened eyes. Her thoughts were so scattered, she could only form one word:

“Bed.” It could have been a plea or a command, she didn’t care.

He must have understood her need for she immediately found herself on the middle of her bed, soft down bedding breaking her fall. A moment later, she felt his fingers at the strings of her breeches, his trembling hands wrestled with the ties and his brow furrowed in frustration. She brought her hands to his and met his eyes; he breathed out a sigh, hands stilling.

“I’m sorry, I just-” He struggled to find the words and closed his eyes. When finally explained, his voice broke, “Being away from you for so long…it _hurt_.”

Lyna cupped his jaw, urging him to look at her. She knew how he felt, what he couldn’t put into words: the constant ache of being apart, how crippling it could be some days, how lonely it was at night. She’d thought about him all the time, praying that he was alive, willing him to return to her. He opened his eyes and met her gaze, searching her face to find her understanding.

“ _Vhenan_.” She whispered, thumbs stroking his cheeks, but said no more. He closed his eyes again, savoring her light touch and nodded, appreciating that she knew what he could not say.

Her steadier hands came down to untie her breeches and then his own. She wasn’t sure at what point they’d lost their boots, but he was tugging her breeches and smalls down with ease before attending to his. Soon enough, she lay bare below him and that same look of reverence came over his face with a smile.

And then Alistair was kissing her again, his hands everywhere, getting reacquainted with every inch of her skin. She felt his hands travel downward and she parted her legs, urging him to where she needed him most. He smiled again against her lips and she gasped as she felt the first tentative brush of his fingers against the juncture of her thighs. His fingers danced everywhere, caressing and probing, relearning her body. His thumb found her bundle of nerves, circling with practiced dexterity and her blood started to boil, body coiling for the imminent release. Another finger found her entrance and slowly pushed in, a satisfied groan leaving her lips. Her hands clenched the blanket below her as she felt the heat building.

“Look at me, love.” He commanded softly. She did not recall closing her eyes, but suddenly she was snapping them open, meeting his gaze. Another circle from his thumb and she was shattering, choking out a series of gasps.

Once she had sufficiently regained her breath, she surged up, kissing him soundly and whispering,

“ _Please_.”

Then he was lined up against her, the tip of him resting against her slick entrance. Her hips bucked, urging him forward and he gripped her hip, pushing slowly. Once he was fully seated inside of her, he stilled, brow furrowing as sweat trickled down his forehead. She could feel the tension in his body as he fought for control.

Lyna moved first, a slight circling of her hips to gain the friction she desperately needed, chasing the high of her previous climax. She would never get enough of this….this fullness, this intimacy, this _connection_. He kissed her forehead, her nose, and then her lips before he began to move.

He thrusted deliberately and though Lyna enjoyed the slow-building passion, it wasn’t enough. She knew he was close, and after so long apart it would not take much to bring him to the edge, but she didn’t care. They had all night, and the next, and even the next after that.

“Alistair,” She pleaded, nails digging into his upper arms. She bucked her hips, throwing off his rhythm, “ _Faster_.”

He increased his pace, fingers gripping her hips as he gained purchase, sweat still gathering at his brow. She moaned as her hips met his, urging him forward and he pulled one of her legs to wrap around his waist, thrusting even deeper. He began to hit that spot deep inside her and she knew it wouldn’t be long before she hit another crescendo.

“Alistair,” Lyna moaned his name, hands now gripping his shoulders as he began to pound into her, hitting that spot over and over again. Her body felt too hot, pulled too taut as she neared the edge. One more thrust and she was coming again with his name a prayer on her lips.

A few moments later, Alistair found his release with a groan, gasping as her muscles continued to spasm around him. His arms quaked as he hovered above her, but he was soon pulling out of her with another gasp and landing beside her. He pulled her into the circle of his arms, tucking her head on his shoulder.

They lay in satisfied silence for a minute; the only sound their racing breaths. Lyna looked up at Alistair to find he was already gazing down at her with an adoring smile on his face.

“I love you,” He whispered, kissing the crown of her head. She smiled, running a hand down his chest as she listened to his heartbeat calm.

“I love you too,” She replied, “Don’t ever leave me again.” She chided and he laughed, a deep, rumbling sound at her ear. She felt another kiss on her forehead as her eyes began close with exhaustion and his soft declaration:

“Never again.”


	5. Before I Knew You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyna grieves after encountering Tamlen in camp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for DA:O.

The attack came in the dead of night. Alistair shouldn’t have been surprised by it, really. They’d kept camp far too long in the same place, Darkspawn were bound to catch up to them sooner than later. It was still disconcerting to be ambushed in what he considered a sacred place. Camp should be _safe_. They would have to move on at dawn and find a new haven, unless more of those disgusting creatures found them first.

And that _ghoul_.

He knew as soon as the words left his mouth, _It **was** a mercy_ , that it was empty comfort. Lyna knew this ghoul… _Tamlen,_ she’d called him. The name rang a bell, the friend that had been with her at the strange caves with the mirror. He’d been the one called by it and she’d tried to stop him. Tamlen disappeared and Lyna was left with the Taint in her veins.

Alistair’s words would hardly ease the sting of what had happened. Lyna’s lost friend showing up as a horrid, decaying monster, pleading her to end his life. It _was_ a mercy, but certainly not to Lyna. Tamlen died by her hand and Alistair was sure this was like losing him again.

He sighed, running a hand over his face as he struggled to process. He’d been ready to take first watch, the rest of the group had been half out of their armor, ready to turn in for the night when the attack started. He could still see Leliana leaping to action in bare feet, Bodahn hauling Sandal over the side of their cart to hide, and Oghren throwing a bottle of ale at a shriek before scrambling for his axe. He’d only had a split second to register that Lyna hadn’t been wearing any armor at all when she’d pulled her daggers from twin sheaths and led them into the fray. Maker, _she_ could have died by Tamlen’s hand even easier. The thought made him ill.  

Alistair briefly surveyed the camp for injuries, and thankfully found nothing worse than Leliana cutting her foot on broken glass from Oghren’s projectile. He frowned as he did another appraisal and found that Lyna was not there at all. His throat closed and he found himself staggering as he began to search in earnest for the elf Warden.

“She went that way,” Came Morrigan’s dry drawl from his right. His eyes snapped to where she was pointing to the path they often took to get to the nearby stream.

“And you didn’t think to _follow_ her?” He immediately snapped. Morrigan’s mouth opened for what would surely be a biting comment, but he continued, “We’ve just been attacked in camp. You saw her wander off and didn’t think there could be something lurking in the woods?”

He saw the moment where it dawned on Morrigan that she had made a grave error. Her mouthed snapped shut and her cat-like eyes widened the slightest as she gripped her staff and made to stand up from her spot before the campfire. He waved her off, frustrated with her attitude.

“I’ll find her,” He retreated, but couldn’t help throwing a jibe at her over his shoulder, “If I’m not back in half an hour, please send out a search party.”

~*~*~*~

He found her by the stream unharmed, thank the Maker. Lyna’s back was facing him and he watched the frantic, jerky movements of her body and she knelt before the babbling water. Her daggers and tunic were discarded beside her, leaving her unarmed in her trousers and breastband. Alistair tensed at the sight of her so vulnerable and sighed deeply behind her. Instantly, her body turned around, daggers in hand, a wild, savage look on her face. He put his hands up and backed away a step.

“It’s just me,” He conceded, trying to warm the coldness in her gaze as she remained in a defensive crouch, “Lyna…love, _please_.”

Her named seemed to remind her of reality, for she nodded to herself and dropped her daggers, thumping heavily to the grassy bank. It was instances like these where he recalled just how feral she was. This woman, who knew nothing but her own people, who traveled and lived in the woods her whole life, was still becoming accustomed to him. Alistair tried to ignore the sting of offense this caused. This woman that he loved, with whom he shared _everything_ , could still sometimes be a stranger to him. They had led different lives up until Ostagar. He was a stranger to her world and her people.

He approached her carefully, allowing her to stop him, but she did not. Lyna roughly rubbed a hand over her eyes and head, stretching the skin marked by her vallaslin.

“You might not want to walk there,” She said finally, pointing to a spot a few paces ahead of him. He noticed she carefully kept her gaze from meeting his, “I…vomited.” He nodded and dodged the area, holding his breath to avoid the smell, allowing her her dignity by withholding comment.

He stood beside her and took a seat on the bank. Lyna’s upper body was covered in rivulets of water. He arched a brow at this and she sighed again.

“I needed to get his blood off of me.” He nodded. That was fair.

They sat together in silence for a few moments. Alistair strained to hear any other suspicious sounds over the trickle of the brook. Lyna just stared at the water, unblinking, hands gripping the edge of the bank.

“You loved him.” As soon as the words flew from his mouth, Alistair wished he could take them back or sew his own mouth shut. This was not the time to ask that, and truly, it wasn’t any of his business to begin with. Whatever relationships Lyna had had before him didn’t matter _and they didn’t_ , but he couldn’t ignore Lyna’s reaction to Tamlen’s appearance, how he called her _lethallan_ with such ease (he wasn’t sure, but it sounded like a term of endearment), even as he was consumed by the Taint. How Tamlen had admitted that he’d always loved her…

Lyna looked over at him sharply, her blue eyes piercing his own, feeding his guilt over a question he had no right to ask. She was his now, but he couldn’t change that she wasn’t _always_ his.

“I- yes,” She said finally, looking back at the water and furrowing her brow, “And no.”

“You don’t have to tell me.” Alistair said quickly, begging her to understand that it was misjudged jealousy and not a demand, “It’s not my bus-”

“It is, though.” She implored, “You’ve been honest with me about everything. It’s only fair I do the same.”

She leaned back to sit on her rear, knees pulled up to her chest as she hugged them. Her eyes were faraway, brow furrowed as she collected her thoughts. Alistair waited patiently, though his hands itched to touch her. He settled with picking at the grass beneath him, silently urging Lyna to speak, but not willing to rush her. He hadn’t felt this unsure around her since he gave her the rose…

“I would have bound myself to him.” She said eventually.

Alistair’s chest tightened, understanding the implications. His fingers stopped their restless plucking of the grass and he struggled not to take in a shaky breath. He tried to ignore the heat in his veins at the thought of Lyna marrying anyone else. They hadn’t spoken of marriage between them, but Alistair could not picture his life with anyone but her, even after such a short period of time. He loved her and he could not comprehend loving another more than that.

“He was…everything to me.” Lyna continued and the words intensified the dread in Alistair’s stomach, “I grew up with Tamlen, learned the clan stories with him, chased the halla, played in the forest. He was my closest friend and my family. I told him I wanted to join the hunters and he joined with me. We were partners.” Her blue eyes darted back and forth as she gazed into the darkness, reliving memories that Alistair knew nothing of.

“He was my first kiss and we gave ourselves to each other. I did that knowing that he was my future…but I did not love him.”

Lyna now turned towards Alistair and he could read something of an apology in her eyes as she grasped his hands in hers.

“I knew there was something missing.” She whispered, staring at his hands in hers. The declaration sounded more for her own realization than for him. “I loved him as a friend. He was safe, he was familiar…but I could never quite place what he _wasn’t_.” She looked up at him now, fingers laced, the corner of her lip tugging upwards in a smile, “Until I met you.”

Alistair blushed, hiding a satisfied smile and tightened his fingers around hers.

“For all that Tamlen was familiar…you are _home_ , Alistair.”

He couldn’t find words, couldn’t form them together to tell her that he felt the same way. He knew precisely what she meant, something he’d known, but couldn’t name. He pulled her to him, gripping onto her so fiercely he feared she may break, but knew her to be stronger than ironbark. Alistair pressed his lips to the smooth skin of her forehead, hoping she understood what he couldn’t find the voice to say.

“ _Ma vehenan_ ….my love.”


	6. When I Saw You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’d like to make this elf smile.

Alistair feels the Taint in her before he sees her for the first time. It is an annoying tug in his veins, alerting him of a nearby enemy or Warden. He is goading the mage, but takes a moment to pause and consider that this must be the elf Duncan told him about.

_She’s sick with the Taint_ , the senior Warden had written in a hasty note sent shortly before his arrival, _She becomes a Warden or she dies._

The mage leaves in a huff and Alistair finally turns to her. It takes all of his concentration to school his face into a friendly expression: the elf is a true horror.

She looks like death, if he’s being completely honest. Actually, death might look a _tad_ better than that. She is dangerously pale and the dark vallaslin swirling across her forehead is a stark, sickening contrast. Mud and blood crust her cheeks, neck, and armor. Alistair sees a hastily stitched up gash peeking out from beneath the top of her leather breastplate. The veins crawl up her neck like twisted vines, darkened from the poison devouring her.

The worst part is her eyes – a true shock since the rest of her is so dreadful. Dull, sunken blue eyes, ringed with red, that stare without seeing. Alistair has seen this face before on a hundred battle-worn warriors. He knows she is somewhere else, maybe wherever she caught the Taint, reliving every part of the horror and unable to escape the repetition of her past. He is not sure what happened, Duncan said very little in his note, but knows he must get her out of this abyss.

The Taint is unsettlingly _strong_ in her. It feels like a parasite, and he is hyperaware of it crawling under her skin. It doesn’t quite call to the Taint in him, but it recognizes the kinship and his skin buzzes. It is like lightning threading through his veins in erratic, sharp pulses.

She is small with a typical elven build: slender and lithe, but all lean muscle and sinew. There is something distinctly child-like about her; maybe it is her size or how large her eyes seem in comparison to the rest of her face. This elf cannot be older than him, but she has the hands and face of an experienced hunter. She is almost feral, with scars dotting her cheeks in pale slivers. Her honey-colored hair is fastened in two braided coils, but the snags tell of someone who prowls the forest, stalking their prey in deadly silence. Her fingers cannot lie still at her side and he can see her pointed ears twitch at every sound. She is enormously uncomfortable in this bustling campsite, unused to both humans and the large crowd. Once she begins to regain awareness, her eyes cannot stop darting to and fro, anxious for an attack.

Awkward introductions aside, Alistair makes a pretty sad attempt at a joke and her face remains stony, her posture as though she balances on the edge of a blade. Her eyes do not scrutinize him, but he gets the feeling that she is throwing this interaction with him into a collection of other negative exchanges she’s had with humans. He’s sure she’s already labelled him as _shemlen_ , with little other regard.

_Lyna._

A name, finally. She doesn’t quite fit it, but he’s not sure who would. Nonetheless, the name is too light, too pleasant to match this haunted face. Alistair tries to imagine how a smile might change her, but doesn’t see a way to make that happen. Lyna has clearly seen too much as of late and he worries he may trigger something should he prod.

She doesn’t have many questions, none at all, really. She doesn’t inquire about The Joining and he considers running himself through after the female Warden comment. Even for him, it is a poor effort at humor, given that his flirting is abysmal at his best.  

He wonders if _she_ will run him through when he’s dumb enough to ask if she’s encountered any darkspawn before.

_Of course she has, you moron!_

She brushes it off with a monotone, _yes, just recently,_ and he wishes the ground would swallow him whole or the Archdemon would swoop down at eat him right there. He would deserve that, he thinks.

He has a sudden thought that the Archdemon would most definitely run back to the Deep Roads if it ever had the misfortune to meet her.

Later, they fight through the Wilds and she is so natural, so _alive_ , he almost stops in the middle of the skirmish to watch her.

_This cannot possibly be the same elf._

She is fluid and precise, her daggers like extensions of her arms. Lyna cuts through darkspawn with an ease he has never quite seen before – this is something innate, not trained. She is effortless in the heat of combat, completely in tune with her body and the enemy. The empty shell he had met hours before is alight with the thrill of bloodshed, baring her teeth in a savage, battle-hungry grin. He feels as though he has finally _seen_ Lyna.

She is so much more impressive than the other recruits and he prays to Andraste and the Maker that she survives The Joining.

He’d like to make this elf smile.


End file.
